The Second Quarter Quell
by AGEless777
Summary: Haymitch Abernathy - clever, strong, and snarky. Another boy who thinks the Hunger Games will never affect him. However, he is proven wrong whenever the 50th Hunger Games, the Quarter Quell comes around. Facing trials he never thought he would as he fights for his life, he wonders if he'll make it.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I decided to write a story about the Second Quarter Quell. It's kind of overused, but I hope you like mine.**

* * *

**ONE**

"Haymitch, are you listening?"

I look up as if I am thinking, then look down at the girl beside who is attempting to make doe eyes at me. "Um, try no," I say rudely. She sticks her lower lip out in a pathetic pout and walks ahead of me, entering the store she was headed to.

I shake my head. Another stupid girl trying to flirt with me. It's always that way. If they aren't throwing themselves at the Seam heartthrob Roger Everdeen, they're coming after me. I look at my reflection in a store window, an ever-present scowl on my face, and wonder what they see. True, I'm not as ugly as some of the people in the District, but I'm no Everdeen.

Another pair of grey Seam eyes from the other side of the window obscures my view. I smile slightly as the person comes out of the store and meets me in an embrace. I kiss the top of my girlfriend Annalee Robert's head. "Everyone knows you're handsome, Haymitch, but that doesn't mean you can stare at yourself in everything reflective you come by," she says teasingly, poking me in a tender spot on my stomach.

I roll my eyes and guide her along, keeping one arm around her shoulders. "I just felt that I needed to make it more obvious," I say sarcastically.

Annalee snorts at this. "What? That you're the most arrogant person on the face of the world?"

I chuckle softly as I look around at the people in the Hob. There is an ominous vibe in the air. Some of the people seem as if they have aged many years over the past few weeks. It is always this way as the Hunger Games get closer and closer. However, this year is the Second Quarter Quell which means there's going to be some sort of terrible twist in the rules, which is supposed to be annoucned tonight. Out all of the people here, only one seems to still be in a good mood.

As we reach the edge of the busy trading place and go into the richer part of town (which really isn't much better than the Seam), who else but Roger Everdeen is standing on a makeshift podium which is nothing but a wooden box with a bag on the ground for money. He is singing the mountain song in his smooth voice. I swear even the mockingjays are silent for him. There are lots of people, girls especially, gathered around seeming mesmerized by the low notes and eerie harmonies his vocal chords are producing. I know he probably brings in game from hunting as he is one of the best shots in the Seam, District Twelve, and maybe even Panem. If he ever has a son - or even a daughter - I can imagine the talent the child will have. However, we all need to make a bit of extra money.

As he begins singing The Hanging Tree, his eye catches mine. I nod to him as Annalee and I keep on walking. She keeps watching him as we walk away, wanting to savor his voice since I can't sing at all and wouldn't be able to provide such entertainment for her. I nudge her slightly, and she turns back around just in time to see Naomi Hollis walk by who - though I would never tell Annalee this - is the most beautiful girl in District Twelve.

Annalee sighs. "Wouldn't it be a shame if Roger and Naomi got Reaped?" she says quietly. "Great people like them wouldn't deserve it."

I look at her, raising my eyebrows. "No one deserves to get Reaped, good person or not," I say emotionlessly. "The Hunger Games shouldn't have happened in the first place. Someone has to stop it. I mean, it can't go on forever, right?"

This time she rolls her eyes. "There you go again. Haymitch Abernathy, Civil Rights leader," she says jokingly. However, her tone has a touch of seriousness to it. She pushes the door open to a store where we both know we can't afford anything with money but can hopefully get something valuable by trading.

* * *

I am lying on my bed, caught up in a book that I am reading when my door swings open and someone jumps onto my back. "Haymitch!" my younger brother, Jacks yells though his mouth is right by my ear. "Mom said to come to the living room! They are about to show the announcement for the Quarter Quell!"

_Breathe in, breathe out, Haymitch, _I think as I slowly close my book and turn to look at the fifteen-year-old. "You know," I say calmly, "I would get up and go in there, but it's kind of hard to when there's a kid on my back."

He turns bright red and stands up on my back, popping some of the bones I didn't even know needed it. "Right," he says. With that, he jumps off my back, knocking the wind out of me, onto his own bed beside me, then off of that bed, and runs into the living room, slamming the already worn down door behind him.

I walk into the living room which triples as our kitchen and a bedroom to find him and our mother sitting on her beat down bed. My father isn't present in the family at the time. It's not really a subject I want to go into at the moment. I sit on the floor next to my mother. Her hand lightly strokes my curls as the Capitol seal appears on the television. We are all quiet as the cameras pan to our young President Snow. He smiles eagerly as he says a greeting and a few more words. I do not listen to most of it, but pay the most attention I can as he pulls out an envelope and pulls out a card. My mother's stroking stops, Jacks starts tapping his foot nervously, and I lean forward expectantly.

Snow reads the card more than once to make sure that he does not say the wrong thing. He then looks directly into the camera and speaks. _"This year's Hunger Games, the Second Quarter Quell, will have one hundred percent more players!" _he says estatically. _"Four tributes from each district will be Reaped instead of two! Good luck to _all _our future tributes! Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor!"_

I sit back as Jacks turns the television off. There are going to be forty-eight children going to the arena instead of twenty-four. Forty-seven innocent lives lost instead of just twenty-three. I wonder how these people live with themselves. Jacks and I meet eyes, and I know he is thinking the same thing I am. My name is probably in the bowl thirty-seven times, his possibly twenty as I usually don't allow him to sign for tesserae. And with there being twice as many tributes, we both have twice the chance of being reaped. I just hoped that the both of us won't get reaped. I have no idea what that do Mom.

However, whenever Jacks asks me what I think of this, I do not let my fears show. I shrug. "I just thought they couldn't get any stupider," I say snarkily. I put my books back on their makeshift shelves as we prepare for bed. I pull the scratchy sheets back and climb in my bed, trying to get comfortable though I know that this is not possible.

Jacks rolls his eyes. "Seriously, Haymitch," he says clambering onto his own crappy mattress. "This doesn't worry you the slightest bit?"

I roll over on my back, staring at the water-stained ceiling. "I think worry is one of the weaknesses most of the tributes have when they go into the arena. Might as well lose it while you can in case you get reaped."

I hear him sigh as he blows out the candle we lit since we usually don't get electricity here in the Seam. "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be in the Hunger Games. Then, I remember that I probably wouldn't win," he says quietly so Mom won't hear. "You, though - you're a different story. I think you would at least stand a chance."

I look in his general direction though I cannot see him in the darkness. "Well, neither of us are going any time soon so we don't have to find out." I turn onto my side facing the wall and close my eyes, hoping sleep would rid the knot in my stomach.

* * *

**A/N: The first chapter is short. Yikes. I hope the rest of the story isn't like this. I wasn't exactly sure how to do this. But usually, the first chapter always seems to be the roughest. I honestly hope some of you agree with me...**

**Review please. And also, check out my other stories.**

**-AGEless**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: It's been awhile... So I'm updating Chapter 2! Sorry about the wait! Right now, I'm more pumped about my first story ****_The Hunger Games: The Next Generation _****than I am about this one. But that's probably because I'm further in the first one that ****_The Second Quarter Quell. _****It has been a while since I've read the books so if anything's off, I'm sorry. My friend has both ****_The Hunger Games _****and ****_Catching Fire _****because she refuses to give the first one back. And my cousin has had ****_Mockingjay _****for a while & she lives almost an hour away plus they're moving into a new house so it's hard for her to get it back to me. But enough blabbering.  
Here's Chap. 2.**

* * *

**TW0**

Reaping Day. The day that District One, Two, and Four teenagers look forward to and the other District teenagers dread. Me? Well, I just think it's stupid. Just like everything else in the Hunger Games.

"I still think that _someone _is going to stop them one day."

Beside me, Annalee rolls her eyes. "Haymitch, can we _please _just stop talking about them for a moment?" she says, tugging on my arm. "Especially whenever there are so many Peacekeepers?"

I sigh and adjust the hunting bag hanging off my shoulder. "If you asked me, half of these Peacekeepers probably agree with me." I nod to one as he passes by us. He tips his hat, eyeing my bag for a moment before walking away. It didn't surprise me that he didn't check my bag - today at least. Do the poor kid who is possibly about to be seperated from his family a favor. Luckily, I won't have to worry about that. And it was also lucky he didn't check my bag.

Annalee and I walk into the Mellarks' bakery, hoping to get a bit of bread. It's never very busy on Reaping Day - most of the parents want to spend time with their children while they can. Standing at the counter is Sage Mellark, a boy in my year. He smiles when we walk up though the smile does not meet his blue eyes. "Hello, Haymitch, Annalee. What can I do for you?" he says politely as he is never one to be in a bad mood.

I set the bag down and opened it to show him the contents. "What do you think I could get with this?" I ask him.

He examines the two squirrels inside. "Well... It's not much." He looks around the bakery for something or someone. He grabs the bag and jerks a thumb towards the back. "I'll be right back."

We wait, not sure what we were going to get. Bow and arrow hunting isn't exactly used for small animals, and I can't go through town dragging a big deer with all the Peacekeepers around. I'd surely be whipped on the spot. So I usually hit them on the body and that doesn't make for very good game. I've tried shooting them through the eye like Roger Everdeen but I've never managed to do so.

Sage comes back and puts two loaves of bread on the table, still warm. I shake my head as he starts to wrap them and put them in a bag. "This is too much. You have to take one back."

He shrugs. "It's Reaping Day," he says simply. "Everyone deserves something extra. Please take it, Haymitch." He didn't say it in a desperate sort of way. Just friendly. Normal Sage. I'm sure his father would be angry if he found out, and I didn't want him to pay the price. But I also knew that he wasn't going to take it back.

I nod and take the bag from his hands. "Thank you, Sage," I say honestly. "I'll be sure and put something extra in next time I come to trade. Mom's garden is almost ready. She should start planting in a few weeks." Annalee and I turn to walk out when he calls us back. He's looking down at the counter. "Good luck to the both of you," he says, looking up through pieces of blond hair. "Especially this year."

"You too, Sage." We walk out just as someone else walks in. Naomi Hollis. I watch in the window as Sage speaks with her, a blush painting his cheeks pink. However, the connection between the two is broken whenever Roger walks in and Naomi turns her attention on him. I figure it is just one of the few connections that will be lost this year.

I snap my attention back to the girl beside me, who is shuffling along quietly, her grey eyes watching the ground. I nudge her and hand her a loaf of bread from the bag. Annalee looks at it. "You should take it," she says. "I didn't do anything to deserve it. I missed everything that came through. Give it to your mom."

Despite her reasoning, I push it towards her. "I have to help look after you," I say quietly. "Really. I want you to have it. You need to feed your little cousins." Annalee's parents died when she was younger. Now she lives with her aunt who is really nothing of a mother to her children and disapproves of me though I help her niece take care of her children. I would like to marry Annalee and adopt her cousins to take care of them all. They'd be better off with me.

Annalee takes the bread, turning it over and over in her hands. "You know you might not always be around to take care of me, Haymitch," she says softly, keeping her eyes down. "And I may not always be around to be taken care of." She lifts her eyes for a second before dropping them back down, but it was long enough for me to catch the sadness in them."

"I'm not going anywhere, Annalee. Neither are you. Everything is going to be fine. I promise."

* * *

Jacks was looking around nervously as he walked beside me in the sea of merchants and coal miners. I punch his arm lightly. "Seriously, everything's going to be fine," I tell him over and over. "Stop fretting."

We walk by an alley when he grabs the front of my shirt and drags me into it, shoving me against a wall angrily. "Stop fretting?" he repeats through clenched teeth. "That's the best you have? One hundred percent more tributes, Haymitch. _One hundred percent! _That means one hundred percent more of a chance we both get reaped. Do you not understand this?"

I gape at him. Usually, he is quiet and keeps his anger to himself. This is a new side of him I have only seen twice in his lifetime. I straighten my hair and shirt, nodding slowly. "Yes. I have thought about this," I say evenly. "But you have your name in six times. You're less likely than some of the merchant kids to get reaped."

He looks at me, his grey eyes like ice. "What about you? You're name is probably in there twenty- or thirty-something times. What if _you _get reaped?"

I stand there for a while, thinking for the right response. I realize that he's right, that I'm probably more likely to get reaped. But out of all these years, the odds have been in my favor, what's to make them change this year? "We'll worry about that when it happens," I tell him, pushing past him easily. "Which it won't. Come on. We'd better get moving."

After the pricking of a finger, speaking with a few friends, and finally finding your age group, the "festivities" can begin. The mayor steps up to the microphone, a smile plastered on his face. "Welcome!" he says. "And happy Hunger Games."

Yes, happy Hunger Games indeed. If you consider happiness as getting your head cut off in a large bloodbath. Then you'll be in heaven if you get reaped. He goes on about the Dark Days and how the peace of Panem was restored through the Hunger Games, et cetera, et cetera. The usual crap that they're trying to feed us. My attention perks whenever our District escort steps up.

"Welcome," the annoying woman who's name I don't care to learn repeats the mayor's greeting. "Happy Hunger Games. This year we will be drawing four tributes instead of two - two girls and two boys. May the odds be _ever _in your favor." She moves over to the bowl on the left side of the stage. "Ladies first."

_Not Annalee, _I say in my mind. _Not Annalee. She will not get reaped._

The woman plucks two pieces of paper from the bowl and moves back to the microphone. She unfolds one and smiles. "Your first tribute... Sierra Fridman!"

There is shuffling in the twelve-year-old girls' area. Finally, a little girl who looks like she is only ten steps out, blond hair in pigtails, blue eyes wide. There are mumbles of disapproval from the crowd gathered in the Square. No one likes it when a young child gets reaped. Or even an eighteen-year-old at that. We all know none of this is right. None.

"Your second tribute," says the escort, unfolding the piece of paper. "Maysilee Donner!"

I know that girl. She is a merchant's child. I look over at the sixteen-year-old girls' area. I spot her, hugging her twin sister, Marylin and Naomi, who is her best friend. Maysilee steps up to the stage, trying to keep a strong facade.

"Now for the boys," our escort says, clacking over to the male bowl in her high heels. She draws two from that bowl also and moves back to the center, standing next to Sierra and Maysilee. She unfolds the first piece and puts her lips close to the microphone. "Haymitch Abernathy!"

It takes a millisecond for my brain to process this. I push past the boys in my area and walk up to the stage. My heart is beating at the speed of light, my blood pumping with adrenaline. Nothing seems real. As I walk through the crowd to the stage, I meet the eyes of Jacks. In them are sadness and anger, and as I see this, I realize that this is actually happening. I'm going to the Games. Worry fills my mind. But I keep up a mask of strength and indifference. Don't show that you're weak. Weakness won't win.

The escort announces the second boy's name, Icarius James, a fourteen-year-old. The four of us shake hands. As I shake Maysilee's I can feel trust and sincere in the short contact. Our eyes meet, blue to grey before I tear them away, and we are taken to the Justice Building.

* * *

**A/N: I hope this is good... I find Haymitch so hard to write about because he doesn't seem like one to just pour out all his feelings. Maybe it'll get easier once the Games start and I'll be able to get some action in. I love blood and gore... Like I was seriously disappointed because the movie _The Hunger Games _didn't have more blood... Yet I can't watch horror movies because I'll get creeped out.**

**But anyway, please review. It'll help me.**

**-AGEless**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: It's taking me a long time to write this, I know. Sorry. I guess I'm just not as into it as I thought I was. But here goes nothing.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Hunger Games.**

* * *

**THREE**

I sit in a room in the Justice Building, juggling my knee nervously. This is not happening. This is not happening. This cannot be happening. The doors open and two people step inside. "Three minutes," the Peacekeeper says before shutting the door.

I stand up as my mother comes towards me. She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me down close. Normally, I would push away, not accepting the gesture. But I let her and even hug her back at one point. "Haymitch," she whispers. I wait, expecting her to say more but that is it. Over and over. "Haymitch. Haymitch."

"I'm sorry, Mom," I say quietly. "If I could change things, I would. I most definitely would."

She shakes her head against my shoulder. "No, sweetie," she says, pulling back to look at me. Her eyes are red and filled with tears. "No, it's not your fault. There's nothing you could do."

I nod, not arguing with her because she's right. There really is nothing I could do. She steps back, patting Jacks on the back as he moves forward, stopping right in front of me. I can tell he is trying to hold back tears, to be strong for me. I put a hand on his shoulder and look him dead in the eye. "You're going to have to take care of Mom from now on, okay?" I say to him, making him listen. "Use the techniques I've shown you when I took you hunting. Annalee can show you anything else you need to know. And Sage Mellark - tell him you're my brother. He might give you a bit extra bread when you go to trade. Just make sure his parents aren't there. And you are never to apply to tesserae. Only when you desperately need it. Alright?"

He nods, not saying anything. He puts his head down, not looking at me anymore, and I know that tears have probably escaped his eyes. "Jacks, it's going to be okay," I tell him. "Everything happens for a reason, right?"

Here, he shakes his head angrily. "No, Haymitch," he says, an edge to his voice. "Just because 'everything happens for a reason' doesn't mean it's alright. You think I'm going to like losing my brother? That I'm okay with being one of those people who loses a loved on every year? No, Haymitch. It's not okay. Never." His breathing is quick and he has stopped trying to make the tears stay in his eyes.

I stay quiet. I realize if the roles were reversed I would feel the same way. I take a deep breath and run a hand through my hair. "I can understand that," I tell him. "I don't expect you to be okay with that. I'm just asking you to push through it. Okay? Not for yourself or for Mom but for me. As a last wish, stay strong for me."

The doors burst open and a Peacekeeper walks in. "Time's up," he says, grabbing Jacks roughly by the shoulders. "Let's go."

Jacks eyes widen. "No. No, Haymitch! Don't go! No!" he shouts are drowned out by the Peacekeepers shutting the doors, blocking my last image of them.

The next time the door opens, Annalee timidly steps in. She does not pull me into an embrace like Mom did but keeps her eyes downcast and sits in the chair opposite of me. She just sits there, not looking at, not saying anything. After a while, I sigh and run a hand through my hair. "Are you going to speak to me?" I ask her, trying not to sound as exasperated as I feel.

She finally looks up at me, her grey eyes piercing. "You said nothing would happen to you, Haymitch," she says icily. "You promised me you would be okay."

I stand up and walk towards her. She turns the other direction, clearly angry with me. "Annalee, how was I supposed to know that this was what was going to happen?" I ask, struggling to keep the anger from my voice. "It's not like I was the one who pulled my own name out of the bowl. What are you getting angry with me for?"

She shook her head and stood up, facing me. "I'm not angry. I'm just..." She pauses searching for the right word.

"Angry?" I finish, knowing how she really feels. I can see at least that written on her face. But then again she's probably wearing that mask to hide all the other emotions that are inside her.

"Annoyed," she corrects. "And worried. I know you're strong and clever, Haymitch, but is it enough against those big, trained Careers? I don't think so. Some of those kids are the dimmest in the country and they win most of the time."

I wrap my arms around her, burying my face in her hair. "So why don't I give them a good show? That's all they want after all. That's all their looking for. Show them that strength isn't everything. I bet you I'll win. For you."

She looks up at me, tears starting to roll down her face. "You promise me? Promise that you'll be back by the end?"

I nod. "I promise."

"Time's up," the Peacekeeper says, coming into the room, interrupting the fragile moment created.

Annalee quickly wipes her tears away. She stands on tiptoe and kisses me on the cheek. "Goodbye, Haymitch," she whispers quietly. "I will always love you." The Peacekeeper all but drags her out.

No one else comes before I am escorted to the train along with the other three tributes. I climb into the car, watching out the window as we speed by the District 12 citizens being held back by baricades. I spot my mother and Jacks. They wave sadly as we pass. I do not see Annalee but think I spot the back of her dark head. Of course she wouldn't be watching. I face forward to see Maysilee watching me with curious blue eyes. She turns something over and over in her hands nervously. I tear my eyes from her gaze to see if I can make it out. She finally stops long enough for me to see that it is a golden mockingjay connected to a golden hoop by only its wingtips.

"My gift from the district," she says, noticing me staring at it. She lets out a small smile and pins it to her dress carefully.

I nod and look away again. I look at the two younger children. The girl, Sierra, has clearly been crying very hard. Her face is splotchy and her eyes bloodshot. She sniffles repeatedly as our escort keeps trying to tell us how much we'll like the Capitol and what a wonderful time we will have. The younger boy, Icarius, stares straight ahead. Occasionly, his Seam eyes will flicker towards me before quickly going back to their original position. His jaw seems to be clenched tight. I wonder if this will be his strategy in the Games. To seem strong and make all the other tributes fear him in some way or another.

He will be one of the ones I will look out for.

* * *

**A/N: Yes. Chapter 3. I'm having bad feelings about this story. Like it's not going to be good. It's lacking, definately not as good as my other story.  
And speaking of _The Next Generation, _I'm going to try to get that one updated by at least tomorrow also.**

**-AGEless**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: It's been awhile. For this reason, I will shut up and go ahead and let you read.**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Once we had stepped on the train, the girls and Icarius were dumbfounded by the elegance of it. Of course, I was too but I refused to practically drool over the sparkling chandeliers and velvet furniture. While it was very nice, it was not built for four tributes plus their escort and mentor so Sierra and Maysilee had to share a room. So did me and Icarius, who has corrected me every time I call him that, saying that he likes to be called "Ic." It fits him very well.

"And whenever I'm crowned victor, I'm going to be so rich, I'm going to laugh in the face of every single kid who has ever made fun of me," he babbles on even though I have not responded once since we came to explore the room.

I sigh and turn to him. I point to my face. "Okay, 'Ic,'" I begin, getting his attention. "Do you see this?"

He squints his eyes as if examing it closely. Then, they widen and I can tell he is trying to surpress a grin. "Yeah," he says, flopping down on a bed. "Looks pretty ugly if you ask me."

I mentally roll my eyes and continue as if I didn't hear him. "Well, this is my not caring face," I tell him harshly, hoping to pound it into his mind. "Whenever you see this face, that means don't talk to me, don't mess with me, don't even look at me because I am not in the mood."

He shakes his head and our similar grey eyes meet, his a little darker than mine. "But, Mitchy, that's the face you wear all the time. Doesn't suit you very much."

I clench my fists to restrain myself from punching him (preferably in the face). "Rule number two," I say slowly as if he's stupid, "no stupid nicknames. Not Mitchy, Hay, Hay of Mitch, or anything of the like. Do we have an understanding?"

He snorts and stands up. "Yes, Father," he says sarcastically. He pushes past me into the bathroom. "I'll see you at supper." As he closes the door, I vaguely hear him mumble, "Fun-wrecker."

I let out a huff and stomp out of the room into the hallway. As I start walking, I almost collide with someone as they step out of their room. I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh frustratedly. "Watch where you're going," I growl, the stress starting to get to me. I look down to see who it is and see Maysilee looking at her shoes sheepishly.

"Sorry, Haymitch," she mumbles, fingers fumbling with fringe of her dress. "I'll get out of your way."

I grab her by the arm. "No, I'm sorry," I say, hating the feeling because I never apologize. "I'm just frustrated. You know..." I trail off, unsure of what to say next.

She nods slightly. "Yeah," she says. "I know." We begin to walk, both seeming to have no set destination. I watch out the window as everything zips by, my eyes barely able to register it since the train is going about two hundred miles per hour. "How's Icarius holding?" Maysilee asks me, looking up at me calmly.

I keep myself from hissing in a breath and shrug. "Fine, surpisingly. Almost happy," I tell her cautiously. "Like he wants to be here or something. What about the other girl? Sierra, right?"

"Yeah. Sierra. That's right. Not so good. She hasn't said a word since we stepped on the train. Won't talk, won't stop crying, won't even look at me." She scratches her hand as if out of habit. "Poor girl. She's only twelve. I just hope she'll pull up a bit before we make it to the arena."

I nod, knowing what she meant, hoping that maybe a twelve-year-old would be able to go home this year. It didn't seem likely. Especially not with the number of Careers in the arena this year. In fact, there wasn't much of a chance any of us from Twelve would make it. I stare out the windows as we pass them, my mind worlds away, in District Twelve with Annalee, her lips brushing mine tauntingly, with Jacks and the late night wrestling matches we would despite our mother's protest... my mother, the sensation of her fingers tugging through my hair though usually the only time I allowed her to do it is whenever she would cut it and would never admit that I enjoyed the feeling because everyone thinks that I'm Haymitch Abernathy, emotionless young man with no tolerance for affection.

Maysilee, however, did not seem to get that vibe. She touches my arm lightly. I yank it away automatically, feeling a bit guilty after I did. "Haymitch," she says quietly, not flirtatiously like most girls, "what are you thinking about?" Her blue eyes are wide, friendly, and trusting as they search my face for some sort of fault, some weakness.

I shrug one shoulder and run a hand through my hair. "Strategies," I lie smoothly. "Ways to stay alive during the Games. Because God knows that the old mentor won't be of much help."

She nods, agreeing with me. District Twelve's only victor was not completely sane. Nigel had been fifteen when he won the third Hunger Games, making him the youngest victor so far. I have never met him, just seen him at the Reapings, but everyone tells me that he has become mute since his victory and whenever he is seated on the stage in the middle of District Twelve, he just sits quietly in his seat, staring into the distance, a blank look on his face as if he is daydreaming the whole time or has literally fallen asleep with his eyes open.

"I think that you could teach us, though," she says, now staring out the window, her eyes darting to register every little thing. "I mean, you seem smart, is what I'm saying. And in school you never talked hardly, but would correct a teacher in a heart beat." The corners of her lips pulled up a bit as mine did. "You're such a smart-aleck, Haymitch. But the key word there _is _smart. And surely, you know a thing or two about plants and growing food. Isn't your mother the one who plants the garden every year and sells her plants to the citizens."

I sigh and lean back against the wall. "Well, it's not the getting the seed part that's hard. It's getting it grown that's the hard part what with our limited resources. We can't afford fertilizer, plant food, water in the dry season, fencing to keep the animals out. So if we don't have it in District Twelve, I highly doubt that there's going to be plant seeds lying around the Cornucopia with a shovel and hoe for me to plant them with. I'll just have to do with what resources there are waiting for us." I scoff a little at a thought that I had. "I mean, it's not like they're going poison everything, right? What fun would it be to watch all the tributes die of a self-induced poisoning, starvation, or thirst? No. What they want to see is all of us killing each other." I shake my head, pushing the hair on my forehead back just to have it fall back in place. "So my 'gardening skills' will be completely futile in there."

She takes a deep breath, fingering the light gold mockingjay pin on her dress. "I just we all come out okay," she says, doubt in her voice. "But that's not going to be the case, I guess."

I shrug. "Maybe one day someone will change all that. Maybe someone will be brave enough to stand up and say, 'I'm not killing these people. I'm letting all of us live.'"

She smiles a bit, her eyes distance and soft, glazing over with a new sheen of tears. "We can only hope, can't we?" she says almost to herself before lightly brushing past me, her hand lingering on my shoulder before sliding off, leaving a bit of warmth there.

* * *

**A/N: I know, I know! You're all mad at me because it's been so long! Well, here's Chapter Four! I was stuck for a while! But don't blame me! I haven't read the books in a while and I need reference! My friend STILL has _my copy_ of_ Catching Fire, _and the last time I asked her about it she said, "It's on my floor," and then ran away and hid before I had the chance to yell at her. This may be because she is a ginger (not RM for those of you who know about her [I seem to have a lot of ginger friends]). So it's quite hard for me to write this without some kind of direct reference for the story. So it will probably take me a while until she decides she's finished with it and that it is not her book and I get it back.  
But anyway... I also wrote a new Twilight fanfic... Please don't kill me! Yes, I do like _Twilight! _It's a good story, whether you think so or not! It's called _Caged Bird's Melody. _So for those of you who aren't completely revolted by the beautiful romance story of a vampire and a human, go check it out! Also, I will try to get _The Next Generation _updated.  
And please don't forget to review!**

**-AGEless :)**


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